


Wintercearig

by historicallygay



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blood and Gore, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Galra Keith (Voltron), GalraAreWerewolves, Gay Keith (Voltron), Humanlance, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, LMAO, M/M, Mild Smut, Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Violence, Multi, Must Read, NobodyNeededThisStory, POV Third Person, Povkeith, Povlance, Romance, Sadness, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Snow, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Storyfirst, Werewolf, Werewolfkeith, Werewolves, Winter, galra - Freeform, klance, lotsoffluff, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 08:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15682017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historicallygay/pseuds/historicallygay
Summary: For years, Lance McClain has watched the wolves in the woods behind his house. One violet-eyed-wolf-his wolf-is a chilling presence he can't seem to live without.Meanwhile, Keith Kogane has lived two lives: In winter, the frozen woods, the protection of the pack, and the silent company of a fearless boy. In summer, a few precious months of being human...until the cold makes him shift back.Now, Lance meets a violet-eyed boy whose familiarity takes his breath away. It's his wolf. It has to be. But as winter nears, Keith must fight to stay human-or risk losing himself, and Lance, forever.(Based on the book Shiver by Maggie)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make the first chapter resemble the book's first a lot.  
> Pretty much, Galra are werewolves.  
> Keith is a werewolf. During summer, he's human. During winter, he's a wolf.

_Wintercearig (adj.) lit. "winter-sorrowful", the feeling of a deep sadness comparable to the cold of winter._

**Lance McClain**

Lance McClain remembered lying in the snow, a cerise mess of warmth in a blanket of icy unforgivable. Vital blood poured from everything that made him-Lance McClain. The wolves surrounded his lithe frame, licking him, biting, probing, pressing at his body, he imagined it was how a scientist would examined a dead corpse on a metal table. Their huddled bodies blocked any light that shined between the tall oaks that covered the woods.  Their ruffs glittered with crystallized snowflakes and their breath came out in puffs that he could feel against his caramel skin. The musky smell of their fur reminded him of earth: wet, the bark of damp trees, something almost foul, and yet, like something wonderfully alive. The animal's tongues dissolved his skin like how the sun should've the bloody pulp of snow around him-and it probably would've too, if his family hadn't moved up North a few years back. Teeth carelessly clawed at his sleeves, snagged through his brunette hair, and shifted to sink around the pulse in his neck. He couldn't keep from thinking of his mother's hands: comforting but easily could destroy. 

Lance McClain could've screamed, but he didn't. He just laid there and allowed it to happen, watching the winter sky grow dark with clouds above him. 

One wolf pressed his snout into his palm and again on his cheek, casting a soft shadow across Lance's narrow jawline. His violet orbs locked into his ocean ones while the other wolves jerked him every which way like a rag doll. 

Lance held on to those eyes for as long as he could. Violet. And, up close, flecked magically with every shade of purple and lilac. He didn't want the wolf to look away, and he didn't. He wanted to reach out and grab a hold of the charcoal fur, but his hands stayed curled on his thin chest, his own arms frozen to his body-not from cold from the only thing that could be described as death. Would his Mother place Cuban flowers into his hands when he laid days later in a coffin the shade of the sea back home? 

He couldn't remember what it felt like to be warm. His plum colored lips parted slightly, a smile that felt as foreign as he appeared. This was it. This was how he was going to die. Alone and completely forgotten, in a mess of his own broken, useless flesh.  Then the violet eyes were gone, and without them, the others closed in, too close, stiffly suffocating. Something fluttered in his chest. 

There was no sun; there was no light. Lance was dying. He couldn't remember what home looked like. 

But he didn't die. He was lost to a sea of cold, and then he was reborn into a work of warmth.

**Keith Kogane**

They snatched the boy off his tire swing in the backyard discreetly, and dragged him like a blanket into the woods, his body made shallow trail marks. The humans would find him later, unfortunately it wouldn't matter much then. Keith watched it go down, from the boy's world to his. He saw it happen. He didn't stop it. 

It had been the longest, harshest winter of his life. Day after day under a bright, worthless sun. And the hunger-the hunger thrived hard in his mouth and gnawed, a sadistic power that couldn't be clenched. That month nothing moved, the landscape frozen into a colorless, unsatisfactory void. Mother Nature had ate any wildlife that was common to catch in the area near home. One of them had been shot with a dark shotgun trying to tear open a man's garbage off his back step, so the rest of the pack stayed in the woodland and slowly starved, waiting for warmth and their old bodies. Until they found the tan skinned boy. Until they rushed in like maggots. 

They ruthlessly crouched around the Cuban, snarling and snapping, fighting to tear into the prey first. You remember the lion and zebra on discovery channel? Yeah, take that. Imagine that. Let that sink into your mind. 

Keith saw it. He saw their flanks shuddering with their eagerness. He saw them tug the boy's body this and that way, their canine whites becoming a mess. He saw the muzzles smeared with red. Still, he didn't stop it.  He was high up in the pack-Shiro and Krolia had made sure of that-so he could've moved in immediately, but he hung back, trembling with cold, up to his ankles in snow.

The boy smelled very delightfully warm, beating, human above all. What was wrong with him? If he was alive, why wasn't he fighting back? 

Keith could smell his blood, a warm, bright scent in this dreadfully dark world. He saw Lotor jerk and tremble as he ripped through his clothing. His stomach twisted, a knowing ache-it had been so long since he had eaten. He wanted to push through the others to stand his ground with Lotor and pretend that he couldn't hear the boy's soft moaning sounds. He was so little underneath their vengeful greed, the pack pressing on him, wanting to trade his life for theirs. It wouldn't be much longer until they snuffed his candle right out, vitality poured unstoppable onto the ground around them. 

With a loud snarl and a flash of gritted teeth, Keith darted forward. Lotor growled back, but the dark wolf was much broader than the whitish-so-gray-could-be-purple ever dare to be, despite his youth. If Lotor refused to move, Shiro would've ripped his neck open until it was sliced and hanging apart like wet pasta. So, he must've took the hint and compelled. 

Keith was next to the boy, and he was looking up at the sky with distance swaying in his eyes. Maybe dead. He pushed his nose into the boy's palm; a bracelet wrapped around his hand, scented with buttermilk lotion, a life away from the wolves.  Then, eyes met each other. 

_Awake. Alive._

The boy looked right at Keith, eyes holding his with such terrible acceptance.

 Keith backed up, recoiled, starting to shift away-but this time, it wasn't due to anger.  He was tearing apart, inside and outside. 

_The boy's life._

_Keith's own._

The pack fell silent, positioning against Keith, wary. They hissed at him, no longer one of them, and they snarled over their prey. Keith couldn't help it.

It might have started right then and there: the blue shirt, the rolled-up sleeves, the caramel skin, dipped with something sun kissed, the way the boy had light freckles dancing hard on his nose, and the way his ocean eyes locked dead set right back on Keith's. Face screaming, _it's okay, you can take my life for your own._

He saw it. He saw the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen, a tiny, bloody flower in the animalistic reality. For the first time other than summers, he saw how beautiful a human being was. Something in his mind had crossed prey vs predator and for this human, he could see the difference. The right from wrong and the others were about to destroy the only thing he'd seen of his once human nature for months. 

He saw it. He saw the boy, in a way he'd never seen anything before.  And he stopped it.

**Lance McClain**

Lance saw him again after that, always in the cold. The wolf stood at the edge of the woods in his backyard, his violet eyes demanding something, anything, but never came close. 

As foolishly as it seemed, Lance liked to daydream about his wolf. During the summer, he would imagine his wolf, standing with him as fireworks lit up all the night sky, raining streams of color overhead. The fire department always set off fireworks down the dock away from his house. It wasn't but a twenty minute drive each year, so he always went with all five of his siblings. Waves usually crashed into the beach down the hills and carnival music would tinkle at top volume. Except, when it was warm, he never showed. 

It was only in the deep winter nights that he would feel the gaze onto his back, as his long legs swung himself on the swing. When he had outgrown the swing, he'd pulled snow boots on and quietly approach the border, hand stretched outward to touch the ruffled up black fur. No threat, giving his all.  But no matter how long Lance spent outside, waiting. No matter how hard Lance tried to reach him, the wolf would always shrink into the darkness before he even got a chance to cross the distance in them. 

He was never afraid of the violet eyed wolf. He was large enough to tear him from his swing and strong enough to drag Lance into the woods like he was some kind of chew toy. But the rage of any feral animal was never in the wolf's orbs. He remembered them, every hue of a galaxy, and he couldn't be afraid. He knew that he wouldn't hurt him. 

Lance wanted him to know that he wouldn't hurt the wolf. 

Some nights, He would sit in his little upstairs room, biting the edge of a pencil. That winter, he had his father push his old school desk towards the window and sure enough, even as he stayed inside on those cold, cold nights, the wolf still arrived. 

So, he waited. And waited.  And the wolf waited, too, though Lance didn't know what exactly he was waiting for. Did he still think he was going to hurt him? Possibly not. It felt like he was the only one reaching to break the wall between them. 

But he was always there. Watching Lance watch him. Never too close, but never any farther away either.  And so it was an unbroken pattern for six years: the wolves haunting presence in the winter and their even more eerie absence in the summer. He didn't think about timing. He just thought that they were wolves. Only wolves. 

**Keith Kogane**

The first day that Keith nearly talked to Lance was one of the hottest days of his fucking life. The sun was a fiery ball in the summer sky, melting anything in its existence or so that's how it felt. He might've been worried about air conditioners in the café, if they hadn't broke weeks ago. Every time the glass doors to his job were slung open by some middle aged woman or teenage prep, he was reminded of just how human being human was. 

Behind the counter, he slouched in comfort, soaking up each drop of the summer that he had left, a news article in his right hand. As the hours crept by, the burning sun had started to linger behind the woods in the distance of town, making the cafe have a pleasant, serene vibe that made him want to hold onto every second of the season that remained. 

This. He loved this part of being human. It was tasteful.

Keith was reading stiffly about some kind of bug candle that was sure to keep the pest away in his magazine when the glass doors opened with a little ding, admitting a new puff of seizing heat wave and a group of older teens. A quick, lazy glance in their direction informed him that they were already scanning the walls of what they wanted, so he closed the article and waited patiently, not making small talk out of respect for their loud, careless conversation about some kid in their gym class. 

Keith probably wouldn't have given the kids a second glance, except near the front door, huffing about having to carry a large duffel bag inside the building and open the door at the same time was a brunette male. A tan, brunette with striking features. The person would've been as insignificant as any other human, but the accidental slam of the doors sent a scent that made Keith want to choke. Buttermilk lotion and cheap cologne. He knew immediately. 

_It was him. It had to be._

Keith yanked the magazine back open, raising it swiftly to his face in an attempt to cover his dignity, and risked a deeper glimpse in the boy's direction. Shit. The other two people: a very small girl, with equally short hair, and a curvy, chocolate skinned male, were still debating whether the mocha, mint caramel was better than the vanilla, banana split milkshake. That saved him at least five more seconds to examine the situation a bit better. Lance wasn't at the counter, thankfully, instead he hung back, sorting through textbooks in the duffel bag. His eyes flicked over the direction of the tables, seeking for his friends to hurry up a bit. He didn't blame him, those textbooks looked heavy as hell. 

Keith had planned this scenario a thousand, no billions, of times. Now that it had actually happened, he felt like a deer in headlights. What was he supposed to say? _Hey, I'm Keith, you probably think I'm nuts but I'm that wolf that has stalked you for ages?_ Yeah, no. Not going to happen. 

The boy was so real here. It was different when he was in his own backyard, it made Keith be able to notice the wall between them very noticeably; he felt every single reason to stay away there was. Here, in this cafe, there was nothing keeping the desire that had crawled inside him to talk to the caramel colored boy and vice versa. 

His glare shot in Keith's direction, which sent his head below the magazine as casual as he could make it look. The boy wouldn't recognize his facial features, like the curve of Keith's jawline or his overgrown hair, but his eyes were the problem. At least, he prayed the boy would remember him by his violet ones. 

He prayed the boy would leave so he didn't feel a hand choking the air out of his lungs. 

He wished the boy would buy something, anything just to talk to him. 

"Lance, come look. They have a frappe called the carnival. Wanna try it?" The young girl smiled back at her friend, straightening her glasses in the progress. Lance. _Lance. That was a normal enough name._

Keith sucked in a slow, steady breath and watched Lance's sunlit arms pull out of the duffel bag. He watched his long legs stride him closer, the bag swinging sharply around his shoulder. There was something about the way he walked that seemed to indicate polite and reasonable interest; he shook his head at them, quickly smiling back, but distracted. He watched the dimmed light from the sunset stream inside the cafe, taking away the serene vibe, and giving it to Lance's comfortable features. He swayed softly to the music that played overhead. It wasn't anything special, just an old track that Keith had found in storage. And now, he wished he had chosen something truly memorable, like the aesthetically calm songs on his iPod. 

"Read anything interesting?"

Keith tensely jerked his head away from his side show and glared lazily past the magazine. A male stared politely back. Not Lance. One of his friends, dark-haired and lovingly plump. The male had a book in one head; The Book Thief, and his bold eyes observed Keith's. That made him only more uncomfortable. He didn't say anything, but Keith knew. It was always the same similar expression when people noticed his violet eyes. Some shocked. Some curiously amazed. The latter this time; at least he was being honest. 

"I wish." Keith stated, touching the button on his vest uniform. 

"Do you have any recommendations with drinks? I mean, I'm very happy to try them all, but I hear anything chocolate is pretty yummy." He sung his sentence out, and that only made Keith smile at the choice of the word 'yummy'. 

He casted around at the board behind him, hurrying for a fast suggestion. "Try the chocolate s'mores." He shrugged, apologetically. 

The girl with the glasses pushed up against the male, leaning on the counter: bushy light brown hair, freckled, and radiating so much energy about something that she physically exhausted Keith. 

"Hunk, hurry, we don't have much free time and Lance is whining." She chuckled. "Two s'mores and a strawberry smoothie." 

He nodded, ringing them up as rapidly as he could. 

"Medium?" A nod.

"Seventeen Dollars and forty-nine Cents."  His heart was pounding.  "Geez." remarked the girl, but she handed him a twenty. "Keep the change." Keith obeyed, quietly, eyes in a different place-that place being Lance. He rung them up and shouted the order. 

Lance moved to go find a table, making some kind of goofy glare at the young girl, probably mocking her in some case. He couldn't tell. Hunk smiled one last time and herded towards Lance. They chose the booth in the very left corner. 

_Turn around, Lance. Look at me, I'm right here._ If he turned around right now, he'd see the eyes, and he'd have to remember. 

All in what felt like thirty seconds, which was actually like ten minutes, happened way too brisk. Drinks were carried over. They laughed, tossed around books. Did something that seemed like study. Made jokes about Lance's clumsy flirting at school, and that was that.  Keith's chest ached, body speaking a language that his heart and head wouldn't quite understand. 

He waited. 

But Lance, the only person in the world he wanted to know, just gathered his stuff afterwards without even realizing that he was right there, right within reach.

**Lance McClain**

Lance never realized the wolves in the woods were a breed of werewolves called Galra, until Matthew Whitely was killed. 

September of his junior year, when it happened, Matthew was all anybody could talk about in his small town. It wasn't that Matthew was a good, holy person, if you get me. He was actually kinda a jerk, Lance had been with him since second grade, and even then, Matthew still thought it was hilarious to make fun of his old, hand-me-down winter coat. Apart from being major rich, having a nicer car than the principal, and dating a chick that had slept with everyone in the grade-he was a huge asshole. But when he was killed-instant sainthood. With a gruesome undertow, because of the way it happened. Within five days, even when dead, Matthew still became the biggest gossip, Lance had heard a thousand stories ranging from brutal murder to accidental death. 

The most common story the one that he feared the most.  Matthew supposedly had gone out-there's mystery to why he had. Some say, to go smoke cigarettes by a stream he loved, others say to meet the girl he was cheating on his girlfriend with. Either way, that part didn't matter. The rumors always changed there, but the description of his body never did. 

Matthew had fought the wolves hard. Most of his muscle in his upper thighs were ripped completely open, like a frog in anatomy class. His neck had been broken by being dragged and the tendons in his arms laid out, almost like a map being looked at. His mangled body had been left to rot. 

Moral of the story: Everyone was terrified of the wolves now. 

Since the only person that enjoyed the news at Lance's house appeared to be his grandmother and his parents were always at work, the communal fear trickled down their household pretty slowly, taking a few days to really take speed. His incident with the wolves had faded from his family's mind over the past six years, even his own siblings had finally stopped worrying about him enough to the point he was actually allowed to leave the house by himself, but Matthew's death, much to Lance's unfortunate luck, refreshed it for everyone perfectly. 

Far be it from his Mom to funnel her growing anxiety into something logical like spending more time with her second oldest, she just used it to be more dramatic than she already was-in all due respect. 

"Are you finished with the breadsticks? If not, I'll help." Lance sighed, kicking his green socked feet up on the living room coffee table, only to be scowled by his equally Cuban mother again for the tenth time in the last hour. 

He immediately knew he was about to get some kind of awkward, heart-to-heart talk because she shifted her curvy frame around to give him a sympathetic frown. The second clue was that the tiny radio was blasting at almost full volume from the kitchen about the news. 

"It was close to here," Sophia, the middle aged woman, pushed her bottom lip out in a silent quiver. "The poor boy." She popped open the oven and this time, Lance actually turned his attention towards the news channel on the radio. You'd think after the male on the news spoke the same story for a week that he'd quit his job or something, but nope, he still sat there in his monochromatic tone about how the wolves were sadistic, fouled creatures. _Not my wolf_ , Lance thought discreetly to himself. He could almost bet money that if he turned the television on to channel 14, they wouldn't even have a picture of the right wolves. It would probably be white ones or something, not his stormy, black wolf and not his violet, speckled eyes.

 "It's so sad," His Mom went on, whispering a few words in spanish under her breath. "The redwood road was where his body was found after he was killed. That's only ten minutes away."

"Or died."

His mother frowned, closing the oven and staring dumbfounded. "Huh?" 

Lance groaned drastically and wiped the butter oils from the popcorn that had been sat out with the rest of the stuff near the table on his tight, blue jeans. "Matthew wasn't really the most admirable kid ever, Mamá. He could've just passed out on alcohol or something and was dragged off. It's not the same."

The woman's attention had wandered over from Lance's statement and back to the breadsticks. She grabbed a dish rag and wiped her hands roughly off. She shook her head in disregard. "They still attacked. They still killed him." 

Lance glanced out the living room window, pretending to close the curtains, and instead, focused his mood onto the border of the woods. If his wolf was out there tonight, he didn't see him. "You once said that wolves were peaceful though." 

Wolves are peaceful creatures. This had been his Mother's optimistic point of view for years. He thought that she didn't really have much a choice to think otherwise, they had not much money left to move again, so she insisted that the wolves were easygoing things, and that Lance's attack had been a casual one time thing. She definitely didn't really believe that, but that's what he liked to believe. Gazing into the woods had been his childhood. He had watched and memorized each wolf every single year from their personalities to the way they moved. Sure, there was this lean, sickly-looking one who could probably eat a human again, but there wasn't much to say about that. 

And there was the other black she-wolf. Lance had read that they often stayed with their offspring for life and he'd seen her with his wolf many times. He had watched her nose his muzzle and lead him through thick trees. She had a very quick speed compared to the others. For some reason, he could imagine her eating a human if it was for the pack. But the rest of them? They were silent, beautiful ghosts in the woods. He didn't fear them.

"Right." He could almost hear her internally sigh. "They should trap them and dump them elsewhere." 

Lance frowned at the popcorn, sitting aside the bowl. Summers without his wolf were bad enough. As a child, those months seemed dreadfully slow, just time spent waiting endlessly to see their furs streaked like lightening across the woods. They had only gotten worse when his violet eyed wolf came along. During those long months, he couldn't stop imagining adventures with them where he became a wolf by night and ran away with his wolf to a paradise where it was always summer. He knew that the paradise didn't exist but the pack-and his violet-eyed wolf-did. 

Sighing, he stood up, dusting any stray popcorn that fell on his long sleeved shirt and joined his Mom in the kitchen. "Your noodles aren't done."

She didn't counter that, and Lance had expected her to. Instead, she appreciated him with a smile and disappeared behind the wooden, kitchen table like she was expecting him to get in there. "If you finish making dinner," she said, "and, make sure Marco washes later, I'll love you so much." 

Lance made a 'uh huh' face, which caused them both to laugh, and began stirring the noodles. Sophia, the woman who had given birth to him, was a wonderful, sweet, considerate person. But, she was never a good cook. She always tried hopeful and it always turned out very poorly. He didn't really want to argue with his Mother-but seriously, he probably should get upstairs to study or something.

"Thanks, sweetheart. I'm going to go start the washer." Sophia ruffled her fingers through his hair, much to his mild annoyance, before heading through the living room. 

"Make sure Isabella brings her clothes down." He reminded her again like clockwork. No matter how many times he seemed to remind and remind, his family still often forgot about something easily important. To be honest, it was probably from living in such a big household. If he hurried quick enough, he might be able to sneak a glimpse outside at his wolf. 

There was some sort a raw beef that his Mother had forgotten to sit out yesterday. In hindsight, he probably should've known it wasn't going to get cooked with Camila's ballet practice coming up due to his family being able to only pay attention to one thing at a time. So, he pulled the meat out and slapped it down on a cutting board. He should go ahead and cook it too. That way, his Mom could just heat up sides tomorrow. On the news, it rung out about something like limiting the wolves, and that only made him in a worse mood. 

The phone pierced Lance's thought. "Hello?" He asked, pressing it between his ear and shoulder to continue cooking. 

"What's up?"

Hunk. It was a relief to hear him. Hunk was someone that Lance could never get enough of. His humor was exactly like his own, and yet, he still managed to be so sweet to everyone around him. It was different from his family-who were all barstool legs and absolute mischief. At times when Lance wasn't in a nice mood, Hunk was always ready to cheer him up. He made him feel less alien. "Taking Mom's place in dinner and listening to the stupid news." 

Just like he knew Hunk would, he knew exactly what he was talking about. "I know. Talk about surreal, huh? It's kind of cheesy-in a non weird sort of way. Like, they totally can't get enough of the story. I mean, why can't they just let it all blew over? I feel terribly bad for Matthew, but nobody can go five minutes without hearing the story twisted again. Not to mention, I bet Matthew's parents are grieving. I wouldn't want the news to talk about my child a million times every single day." Hunk rambled, clearly as interested about it as Lance was. "Has Pidge called tonight?" 

Pidge was the third party of their trio, the only one who seemed more interested in the thinking of the wolves than the wolves themselves. It was a rare night when he didn't talk to Pidge or Hunk on the phone.

"She's probably out fixing her computer at her brother Holt's house. Didn't she want to modify something to it?" Pidge was that type. When she wasn't hanging with them, she was away with Matt or doing something technical that Lance never seemed to understand. Hunk said, "Yeah, true. You're right, I think. Got a moment to talk?" 

Lance glanced at the clock, his lips forming a smile. "Yeah, of course, my man. Make it kinda quick though. I have to study for Ms. Chappell's dumb science thing." 

"Okay, Yeah, right. Just a second of your time then," He paused. "Here's the thing: My parents said if I wanted to go somewhere over Christmas break this year, they'd pay for it. How nice of them, right? But, I'm tired of snow that and snow this. I wanted to go somewhere else." 

"Uh huh." Lance smiled more, he loved the way Hunk always added something admirable to his statements. 

"And, Maybe, you and Pidge would join me. It would be a blast! Let's go do paint balling." Hunk cheered. 

Lance didn't answer right away. The idea did sound absolutely fantastic. All three of them surfing somewhere, just like back home. However, he liked his Christmas Decembers here. It was always filled with the dark glare of the night sky and the house smelling like gingerbread. The best part? His wolf's eyes gleamed with light from the house near the edge of the border. No matter how absent the wolf had been, it was always there for Christmas. 

Hunk noted the silence. "Lance, come on! I know you want to leave! Plus, you're like the best at paint balling." 

"You're totally right. I'm like a ninja sharpshooter." Lance popped the 'p' in sharpshooter, marveling at his own compliment. "But, seriously, I didn't say no." He protested a slight bit. 

"You also didn't say oh my gosh Thanks Hunk, Of course I'll go with you." He sighed. "Think about it, okay? You will come over though, right?"

"Yeah, totally. You know I will. I never miss a day of our hangouts." He cocked his head to throw a look at the clock in the living room. "Now, I really have to go." 

"Okay, cool." Hunk replied. "I'll bake cookies. No raisins. Bye." Hunk smiled, hanging up.

At the sound of the call ending, Lance yanked the huge pot off the stove onto the counter, quickly finishing. He had to hurry. It was going to be too late if he took too long. Grabbing his coat off the hook on the wall, which was occupied with a bunch others, he stepped out of the sliding doors onto the deck. 

Cool air pierced Lance's cheeks so hardcore that he psychically had to shudder. It pinched at his ears and took bites out at his hands. His snow cap and gloves were stuffed into his oversized pockets, but he knew that sometimes his wolf couldn't tell him apart from his family when he did that, so he left it off. He squinted at the edge of the yard, at the border, stepping into the snow that went past his ankles. He was trying to look as nonchalant as he could, but the thick piece of raw meat in his left hand felt slickly damp. 

He crouched down near the swing set, feeling momentarily dazed by the late sunset through the fluttering of the trees. The landscape was a world away from the warm kitchen, where he knew survival was simple. Where he should've been. Where he should've wanted to belong. But the trees called to him, urging him like some eerie desire, like he actually wanted to abandon everything just to leave in the night. 

The darkness at the border of the woods didn't get any clearer, but Lance could still make out the frame of the wolf, gawking at him. It's nose stuck up in the air, sniffing calmly at the meat in his hand. His relief for the wolf was almost cut short as he shifted his ears, letting light shine on his furry face. Blood stained his chin, old, and dry. Days old. 

His nostrils worked; he could smell the meat in Lance's hand. Either the food or his own presences was enough to lure him a few steps out of the woods. Then the wolf shifted a bit more. Closer than he'd ever been before.


	2. A Death, Human, and Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wowie such gays ;)  
> I'm here for beautiful Keith and protective Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhh there's probably grammar mistakes. I haven't checked over this chapter. I will in a few hours.

**Lance McClain**

 

Lance's ocean eyes dropped to the snow, his lips pressed into a straight line. He faced the wolf, close enough that he could stretch his palm out to touch the dark fur. Or, close enough to touch the deep, red blood stain that dripped dryly on the wolf's muzzle. 

 

He wanted the blood to be his own, possibly from a cut in the brush or earned in a scuffle. 

 

"It's the boy's blood, isn't it?" He whispered, eyes never leaving the ground. "You killed him, didn't you?"

 

The wolf didn't leave. He didn't move either. Lance was almost surprised that the wolf hadn't shuddered in recoil when he had spoken. Instead, his violet orbs stared at his face, not the meat in his hand. 

 

"It's all over the news." He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning deeply. "They made it seem so brutal. Did you do it? You did, didn't you?" 

 

The black animal stared at Lance for a minute longer, still as a statue, unblinking. And then, for the first time in six years, he lowered his head. It was against the textbooks, against the natural instinct that any wolf at all should possess. Six years of standing dominantly, and now, his eyes closed, head ducked, and tail lowered. 

 

Against natural instinct too, barely moving, afraid of scaring him away, Lance stepped closer. He wasn't fearful of the teeth the animal had or the strength, or even, the blood stained to its chin. His ears flicked, acknowledging the presence that was now not just the wolf-it was wolf and Lance. Lance and wolf. He crouched, dropping the meat down beside him, only then did the wolf flinch a bit. He was close enough to smell the earthly stench of the fur-a black so dark that it was completely void of anything else. 

 

Against logic and demand, Lance parted his lips, slipping his long fingers into the thick ruff-like he had daydreamed about doing for six years. His outer fur was not as soft as it appeared, but beneath was a course of downy fluff. Against logic, against everything-Lance wrapped his arms slowly around the neck of the animal 2x the size of him, puffs of his hot breath being pulled into the far back of a shoulder. He held him like a fantasy and maybe, it was, either way, his arms didn't let go. The wolf nuzzled the back of his head as friendly as a family dog, but the scent of animalistic power didn't allow Lance to imagine that. 

 

For a moment, he forgot where-who-he was. For a moment, it didn't matter. 

 

Movement caught his eyes; Far off, barely visible in the late afternoon, was a wolf stood boldly at the edge of the border. A female from her grace, she was a color that was rare in the pack. A color that Lance thought was gorgeous; orange, beige, something dark, and grainy. Her eyes burned at them insanely bright in flecks of blue-hair ruffled up, ears dropped low.

 

Then, a rumble startled him and Lance realized that his wolf was growling at her. The she-wolf stepped closer, uncommonly bold, and he twisted in his arms to face her. Lance flinched at the sound of teeth snapping at the orange wolf. 

 

She never hissed at them, and somehow that was worse. A wolf should have growled or anything. But she just grimaced, every aspect of body language breathing hatred at the Cuban boy. 

 

Still rumbling, almost inaudible, his wolf pressed forward, forcing Lance to fall back softly closer to the porch. He wasn't aware if his wolf was shifting to attack or had moved to make him go inside, either way, he retreated inside the deck's glass doors, and locked himself in.

 

As soon as Lance was inside, the orange wolf darted so quick at his wolf that she must've been sound traveling. Though his wolf was the most obvious threat against such a tiny she-wolf, he didn't move. She took a second to hiss in his wolf's face then she grabbed the raw meat that he dropped earlier, eyes still locking into Lance's in silent rage, and as fast as she came, she slid back into the woods like a ghost. 

 

His wolf hesitated by the edge of the woods, dim porch light catching his eyes. He was still watching his silhouette through the doors. 

 

Lance pressed his palm flat against the nippy glass. 

 

The distance between them felt like he could fall in any minute, so vast, so wide. 

 

**Lance McClain**

 

When Lance's father arrived home, he was still completely high from his world with the wolves, mentally feeling again and again the thought of how his wolf's fur felt. Even though he'd washed his hands after coming in, the musky scent still lingered everywhere on his skin. The encounter stayed fresh in his mind. It had taken six years for him to allow Lance to touch him. Hold him. And now, he had guarded him, just like he knew he would. He wanted desperately to tell someone, but with the radio still blasting about the attack, he doubted anyone in his family would be thrilled. 

 

While his siblings sat elsewhere in their rooms, Lance laid on his back on the beige, living room couch. 

He was a notoriously picky eater. While he had never purposely sought out to be extremely difficult in that case, he seemed to hate most things that either had man-made, meat synthetics, or anything too average. It was odd and incredibly irritating for the people who tried to feed him. Either way, spaghetti wasn't his taste. He'd eat something later. 

 

In the front hall, his Father kicked his oversized, leather boots off. Even though he hadn't seen anyone in the house yet, if you didn't count the yelling from kids upstairs, he called out, "Dinner smells good, Sophia." 

 

"Sophia is cleaning. I cooked." Lance lazily yelled back. 

 

His father came into the living room, knocking the toys out of the rocking chair he was about to sit in. His eyes were tired bags, and yet, he still managed a smile. "Dinner smells good, Lance." He rephrased. 

 

"Thanks." Lance yawned, still offering a smile back. 

 

"Has everyone ate?" He chucked his coat onto his son's chest, forcing him to throw it in the floor. 

 

"I believe so," Lance shifted, trying not to allow the couch monster to eat him and suck him to the depths of hell between the cushions. "Except Mamá." 

 

His father gave an affable smile and called for his mother, who seemed to register to that quick enough due to the fact that she was down the steps in a matter of seconds flat. 

 

He kissed her, forcing Lance to roll his eyes. "Get a room." He scoffed, halfheartedly. 

 

"With that kind of attitude, I guess I'll just have to wait three years and give my Corolla to Marco." His father pressed. 

 

"Wait, what Corolla?" Lance sat up, eyes lighting up. 

 

His Mother laughed, giddy, getting a huge kick out of seeing her son all wild up. She chanted under her breath something that played on the radio, which was odd since he didn't even hear it change to a song. 

 

But that seemed unimportant in comparison to the hint of a promise of reliable transportation. "Wait, woah, are you giving me a car?" 

 

"I'm getting a raise and my job offered me a pickup truck, which would help duty out a lot. The Corolla can go to you, since you are the oldest kid in the house at the moment." 

 

"You mean, one that actually runs? Not like the mustang we shared last year?" 

 

"A crappy one, yes." He promised. "Nothing nice." 

 

_A car like that meant freedom._

 

That night, as Lance laid in his room, eyes squeezed firmly shut, trying his hardest to sleep, it dawned on him that it was quiet. Too quiet. 

 

He held his breath, listening for any shuffling outside his window, any movement in the darkness. 

 

He slowly became aware of the annoying faint clicks of something pricking at his ears. It sounded like long toenails on the deck outside the kitchen. Was the raccoon out there? That wasn't entirely uncommon. They did live near a huge forest, after all. Then, came more soft shuffling and a growl-totally not a raccoon. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. 

 

Pulling his handmade quilt around his tall frame like a cape, not prepared to leave the comfort of his room, Lance padded his bare feet across the wooden tiled floor, wandering his way into the dark living room, eyes squinted half shut due to exhaustion. The house was lit by moonlight outside the windows, but that didn't keep him from cursing at a few random ass side tables crushing his hip bone on the way through. How dare they be placed in the exact direction he was going? Who did the tables think they were? God or something? 

 

Lance hesitated, wondering if his slushed brain had dreamt the sounds, but the tack tack tack came through the windows again. He huffed, marching mildly annoyed to the kitchen, yanking the blinds up to look out. He could see the emptiness of the yard, all but still. No movement whatsoever, except for the swaying of the oak trees at the border beyond. 

 

Lance was almost about to give up in frustration, when a head snapped directly in front of his, giving him a heart attack. The orange wolf was on the other side of the glass sliding doors,  front paws on them. She was close enough that he could see the snowflakes caught in her fox-like fur. Her jewel-blue eyes glared into his, challenging him harshly. A low growl tumbled through the glass, and he felt as if he could read meaning into it. 

 

_You're not his to protect._

 

Lance stared back equally raged. Then, without thinking, he slapped his hand flat on the glass, hard enough to make a good clink. That must've done the job because she jumped back, pissed on the edge of his porch, and dashed back into the woods. 

 

He sighed, mood even more ruined, and tightened the cover around him. That night, when he crawled back into his bed in warm comfort, he couldn't stop thinking about the smell of his wolf. Pine needles, cold rain, earth. 

 

He fell asleep to it, almost like his wolf was there. 

 

**Keith Kogane**

 

Keith could smell Lance on his fur. It hung onto his, like the memories of another reality. 

 

He was drunk to it, with the scent of him. Keith had gotten too close. His instincts warned against it. Especially when he remembered what just went down with the dead boy. 

 

The smell of his skin, the softness to his  voice, the sensation of his fingers on his fur. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop thinking of him. 

 

_Too close._

 

He couldn't stay away. 

 

**Lance McClain**

 

For the next week, Lance was distracted with notes. School was as dull as ever and he found that skipping a few days of work to daydream in his classes about the feeling of his wolf's fur had unfortunately made him so behind that he couldn't comprehend anything else. His notebooks were full of useless ancient history that he could definitely live without and small sketches of the orange wolf scowling at him. That image was burned into his head, way too unforgettable. He snapped to attention, however, when Ms. Carmen led a policeman into the room and to the front of his world history class.

 

She left the man alone in the front of the room, which Lance thought was pretty cruel, considering it was 7th period and nobody was going to listen when they knew they had like twenty minutes of school left. Even his own self didn't exactly want to care about whatever was about to be said, but there was nothing else to do. 

 

"Hi," The officer awkwardly stated, growing increasingly uncomfortable under the stares of a bunch of loud ass juniors. Beneath a belt of pepper spray and assorted weapons, he seemed reasonably young. He glanced over at Ms. Carmen, who hovered unhelpfully near her desk, and fingered his pocket. "I'm officer Dawes. Your teacher asked me last week if I'd come talk to her seventh period History class." 

 

Lance glanced over at Pidge in the next seat over from him to see what she was making of this. As usual, she sat as exhausted as a coal mine worker and her clothes hung way too loosely. She undoubtedly stayed up all night on her laptop. You could always tell what she was thinking by her expressions, but the real humor was in her eyes. 

 

"A real officer, hear that?" She whispered, smirking. "You think he shares the basement at his Mom's house or the upstairs?" 

 

Lance contemplated the question like it was a test one. He hadn't quite figured out how to respond to Pidge's all time quirks yet, but the answer came clear enough. "Both." He nodded. 

 

"I became an officer of the law right after high school." Officer Dawes said. He looked way too serious about it and that only made the other boys in the back of the class snicker more. "It's a profession that I take quite seriously." 

 

"Clearly," Lance whispered back to Pidge. Officer Dawes shot them a look of disapproval and rested his hand on his belt. He was probably considering shooting up them, to be honest. Lance disappeared into his seat and few other kids laughed. 

 

"It's an excellent pathway," he pressed on. "Are-um-any of you considering going into law enforcement?"

 

It was that um that did him in. If he hadn't hesitated, Lance thought the class might have behaved. 

 

A hand whipped up so fast, it almost blinded them. Lily. A gothic chick Lance didn't really talk to but on occasion. "Is it true that Matthew's body was stolen?" 

 

The class erupted with fear and whispers, loud enough that you could imagine someone had just spoke the truth to death or something. "I'm not really authorized to talk about details of any ongoing investigations." 

 

"It's an investigation?" A male squealed from the front of the class, causing more chaos to start. 

 

Lily pressed on, "We heard it from a dispatcher. Is it true? Why on earth would they steal a dead body?" 

 

Theories flew out like this was buzzfeed unsolved. 

 

"It's got to be a cover-up. I bet a suicide."

 

"Did his girlfriend drug him?" 

 

Officer Dawes looked aghast at Ms. Carmen, who moved to stand her ground with the male. She regarded him solemnly and then turned to all the kids. 

"Quiet! Quiet down!" 

 

They shut up. 

 

She turned to the officer. "So, was the body actually stolen?" She asked. 

 

He said again, "I'm not really authorized to discuss details of any ongoing investigation." But this time, he looked more like a lost puppy, begging for release. 

 

"Matthew was well loved in this community." The teacher stated. 

 

Which was a very blunt lie. Matthew was not loved by the community, he was a loud bully with ego bigger than he had balls. Being dead had done wonders for his reputation though. Lance guessed everyone had forgotten about the temper Matthew had or all the fights he had been in. But Lance hadn't. This town was all about rumors and rumor had it that Matthew shared the same anger as his dad. He didn't know about that. He liked to avoid the rumors. 

 

"We are still mourning," she added, motioning around the sea of students. "This is about getting closure for one of our best students." 

 

Pidge blinked, mouthing to Lance: "Geez." He shook his head. Wow. Okay. Bet. 

 

The officer crossed his arms over his chest, managing to look reluctant and uncomfortable at the same time. "It's true. We are still looking into it. I understand the loss of someone so young has a huge impact on the community, but I ask that everyone please respect the privacy of the family and the confidentiality of the investigation." 

 

He was being firm again. 

 

Lilly waved her hand. "Do you think the wolves are a danger to our community? Do you get lots of calls about them? My family said you get lots of calls about them." 

 

Officer Dawes glanced for help, but it was too late, Ms. Carmen seemed already just as interested to know. "Uh. I don't think the wolves are much of a threat, no. I-and the rest of the department-feel this was an isolated incident." 

 

Lilly said, "But he got attacked, too." 

 

Oh, great. Just great. He couldn't see them but Lance immediately knew that she was pointing at him and everyone now had their eyes at the one person he wished they didn't have them to be. He bit the inside of his cheek, he didn't mind the attention. He actually thought it suited him, but every time someone was reminded of the incident, they remembered it could happen to any single person in this town. And he wondered, just how many someones it would take before they decided to go after the wolves. 

 

_To go after his wolf._

 

This might've been the real reason Lance couldn't forgive Matthew for dying. No matter how many people forgot and forgave, it was still sketched deep inside a book somewhere on how a wolf had killed him. It was just hypocritical of him to go into mourning now with the rest of the entire school. It didn't feel right either way though. He wished he knew how he was supposed to be feeling.

 

"That was an insane amount of time ago," Lance snapped lightly. "Years. It might have been big dogs. I couldn't tell." 

 

"Exactly," The Officer replied, thankful just to have to not argue alone. "We can't just say that every single animal is bad. Everything and everyone is different. However, we can't be creating panic either. That creates accidents." 

 

His thoughts exactly. Not everything was bad. Lance felt a vague, kinda weird, platonic bond to humorless Officer Dawes in a way. After class was over, the other students stayed to ask questions about Matthew again, but Pidge and Lance escaped to their lockers.

 

Lance felt a poke on his shoulder and he turned to see Hunk standing behind both of them, looking somewhat disappointed. "Hey, guys. I have to help Mom with packing her sister's housing supplies up. You know how Mom's back is. I really don't want to ditch you, but you know. Can we get together tomorrow or something?" 

 

Lance had barely heard the last of the question due to the slamming of Pidge's locker shutting before Hunk was already halfway down the hall. 

 

"Want to come over to my place instead?" He asked Pidge. It felt strange when Hunk wasn't there-not because Lance was uncomfortable but it was rare that it wasn't the three of them. They were a team. Hanging with just the younger girl was fine, even his own family enjoyed her, but it just wasn't right without Hunk, the considerate one. 

 

"Yeah, sure." Pidge shrugged, grabbing her last bag to follow Lance down the hall. "Hey, look," She whispered. Both their attentions snapped to the female ahead of them. 

Whitish blonde, long wavy hair was pulled back to reveal the deep frown of Allura Whitely, Matthew Whitely's younger sister. Dead blue orbs set gracefully in her sockets, staring off in the distance. She was a classmate of theirs with more than a few pleasant looks from the Whitely family. Just like the rest of the Whitely family, she was slim and walked with so much elegance it made Lance sputter. It was no mystery to the school that she had spent her last week in black funeral clothing and yet, they had been traded today for her usually pink sheer. She even had her casual, polished purse. Lance had always wondered when she'd finally notice that nobody in this town dressed like they just walked from the premiere of Gossip Girl. 

 

"She's not wearing black?" Pidge questioned in a hushed whisper, keeping her eye contact in front of her. 

 

Allura snapped out of some trance she was in, and like she had heard their words, she glanced to match Lance's eyes. He was the first to look away. 

 

"Maybe, she's not in mourning?" Lance shrugged, slowing his strides to match Pidge's small limbs.

 

"Maybe she's the only one who ever was." 

 

**Lance McClain**

 

Back home, Lance had made them each a small glass of ice tea and a bag of BBQ chips spilled over the kitchen table they had rooted themselves into. The traffic report from downtown rung loud and clear from the oldest clock he'd ever seen that was on the counter. Likewise, he was trying to shut out the logical part of his brain, which shouted for him to not waste his appetite on something that wouldn't keep him full. But the pleasure-seeking part of his brain allowed him to keep eating the junk food like a starving child while Pidge showed pictures she'd took on her computer. 

 

"Gosh, it's so cute. You can't tell me it isn't," she said. 

 

"Are you still talking about the MacBook? It's not a sunset, Pidge," He motioned for her to continue shuffling through the old photos she had found on a flash drive. "Besides, it totally isn't."

 

Pidge grinned and leaned over the computer more. Placing a chip in her mouth, she spoke around a mouthful, covering her mouth to keep from spraying crumbs. "What can I say? Technology is just so picturesque. Oh, c'mon, don't even give me that look."

 

He rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go get an actual boyfriend or girlfriend?" 

 

Pidge didn't look away from the computer, but Lance got the feeling that maybe she contemplated it for a few seconds. "I'm too busy. Why don't you?" 

 

"When the right person comes, I guess I will." He mumbled, stretching his legs out. 

 

"How will you ever know if you don't bother looking?" 

 

"I'm like a pro at getting dates. The ladies just can't keep their hands off me." He marveled more to himself than her. 

 

"Yeah. Okay. _Sure._ " Pidge rolled her eyes, changing pictures. Lance almost thought she had said that a lot harsher than intended, but luckily, she laughed afterwards, probably to soften the blow. For a long time, they sat in silence, paging through the photos. 

 

Pidge changed the photo again, causing Lance to lean over to get a good glance at the shot she was lingering on. Hunk, him, and Pidge all smiled in it; Pidge's brother had came outside to take it (and tease them a bit too). Hunk, his rounder face contorted into a loving smile, had one arm wrapped around Lance and the other firmly on Pidge's shoulder. Like always, he was the glue that had held them all together throughout the years. 

 

In the photo, Hunk seemed to belong to the summer, with his chocolate, smooth skin. In reality, they all appeared very sunkissed and perfectly bronzed. Pidge was a little paler than the two, but her crescent, white smile made up for it entirely. Lance used to think that he was most similar to Pidge in a way, both ambivalent, but as time flew by, their ambitions went in different directions. He always loved spending time with her and he would never say anything negative about it at all. However, at times, it was hard for him to see any similarities at all. 

 

"Haha, I look stupid in this one with my hair in a ponytail," Pidge smiled. "You look impressively nerdy and Hunk looks normal." 

 

Lance smiled back. He did look nerdy. That was back when he had shorter hair and braces. "You don't look stupid. You look cool. I look stupid." 

 

"Oh, c'mon, Lance. I think you look nice." She smiled more. 

 

"Of course you think so." He wiggled his eyebrows. 

 

"Gross. I take it back." Pidge pushed his chair away, but he scooted back. 

 

"No-no-nope-no. Can't take it back, no," Lance teased more but his attention drew back to the photo. "Also, you're right, Hunk does look normal." Really, that was true. Hunk was the normal one out of the three. 

 

"Did you see this one?" Pidge interrupted Lance's thoughts to point at another one of the photos. It was a group of wolves, straight shouldered and standing past the border of the woods. He almost didn't take it for much, but violet eyes with little sliver of face contorted back at the camera. "Want me to send this to your email?" 

 

"Yeah, thanks," He replied, and meant it more than he could say. He pointed at the picture. "This from last week?" 

 

She nodded. Lance stared at the photo of him-breathtaking, but inadequate in comparison to the real thing. He lightly rubbed his thumb over it, lips parted, like he could feel the fur. Something knitted in his chest, leaving him bitter or cold. He felt Pidge's eyes on him, and they only forced him to feel lonelier. Once upon a time, he would've talked to her about it, but now it felt too personal. Something had changed-and he thought it was himself. 

 

Pidge clicked a key and the photo flew to another. "Look at this one. I'm proud of it." 

 

Distracted, Lance lazily skimmed the photo over. Students reflected in the window of a school bus, seemingly smudgy black-and-white. Not knowing how else to react and thinking way too much about his wolf, he oohed at the photo, allowing her to continue through them. 

 

"Any you like and think I should print for my bedroom walls?" 

 

He hurriedly paid attention to her question once more, frowning a bit, trying his best to imagine one on her brown walls. "The second Park one." 

 

Pidge sighed and nodded, closing the laptop mildly hard, he almost expected it to break. Lance didn't get it. Was he supposed to sit there bored, pretending he actually was interested in anything other? He wasn't trying to be rude at all and he didn't mean to come off that way. 

 

"Hello! Anyone home?" It was Matthew, Pidge's older brother, sparing Lance of the consequences of whatever he'd done to irritate Pidge. He grinned at them from the front hall, shutting the door behind him. "Treating my sister good?"

 

Lance looked up from his seat at the kitchen table with a flat expression. "Of course." 

 

"Of course," Matthew repeated, half teasing. He was handsome in a very conventional way: tall, light hair like his sister, but with a face quick to smile and befriend. "So. It's four o'clock and I think that means it's time for us two to get back to Mother." 

 

Pidge silently straightened her stuff and Lance silently helped. 

 

"Hmm. Katie, we've got to go if you don't want to miss going to the movies with us." He continued, it had been so long since Pidge was called anything but her nickname. "Why don't you come with us, Lance? Are your parents here?" 

 

Lance snorted. "Are you kidding? I practically raise myself. They both have work and my siblings actually have lives." Matthew laughed, probably just to be respectfully nice. 

 

"It'll be fun." Pidge poked her friend's tummy and finished gathering her things. "You not coming?" Apparently, she wasn't too salty. 

 

Lance glared out the window, and for the first time in months, he envisioned disappearing to the summer paradise with his wolf. He shook his head. "No, sorry, not tonight." 

 

Matthew flashed a smirk and before he could say anything to offensively teasing, Pidge swung her bag at her brother's stomach. "Ow, okay, okay. Bye. You know who to call." He said, winded.

 

Lance showed them to the door and then returned aimlessly to the kitchen. The pleasant radio still blared whatever was being said about the weather. He ruined his appetite but the younger siblings would still be hungry. So, very Lance-like, he pulled out a pot of leftover spaghetti to heat up. He wouldn't eat dinner but he knew they would and his parents probably wouldn't be back for awhile. It wasn't their fault that money was tight, but it still made him upset that the absence of them was so much more bitter this year. 

 

He stood in the kitchen, illuminated by the slivering afternoon light shining through the glass door, feeling sorry for himself more because of Pidge's picture. He hadn't seen his wolf in person since the day he touched him, nearly a week ago, and even though he knew he shouldn't, his absence cut him like broken glass. It was stupid that Lance was depending his happiness anymore on a silly, wild animal. Stupid but completely incurable. 

 

Lance went to the glass doors, opening it. He really just needed fresh air. He padded his socked feet onto the deck, leaning against the railing. 

 

If Lance hadn't gone outside, he wouldn't have ever heard the scream. 

 

**Lance McClain**

 

From somewhere lost in the depths beyond the trees, the scream came again. For a second Lance thought it was a howl, and then the cry resolved into words: "Help! Please! Ack!" 

 

He swore it sounded like Matthew Whitely's. 

 

That was impossible. Lance was just imagining it, remembering it from school. That was it. Yes, _yes_ , he was just thinking he heard Matthew. It was insanely impossible. 

 

Still, Lance followed the sound of the whimpering voice, moving so impulsively across the yard and through the border that the bottom of his socks were already soaked by the damp earth. He was more agile without sneakers but that didn't keep him from crushing the brush underneath, drowning out any other noise. The voice was gone, replaced by just a distinctly animal sound, and then silence. 

 

The safety of his backyard was far behind him now. Any chance of going back for comfort would be too late. He stood for a long minute, listening for any indication of where the first scream had come from. He knew he hadn't imagined it or maybe he had, but it was too late to not look foolish now. 

 

There was nothing but silence. And in the silence, the smell of pine needles made his own thoughts waver just a bit. 

 

Lance didn't care how idiotic it was. He'd come this far. Going a little farther to try to see his wolf again wouldn't hurt anybody. There was a bite behind the breeze prompting him to move quick, but the sun still shined brightly with memories of hot days not so long ago. 

 

All around him, leaves were drying gorgeous in all the shades of red or orange you could imagine, air way too brisk. He hadn't been this far in the woods since he was younger when he had been dragged aimlessly. Strangely, nothing about this scared him. 

 

Lance stepped carefully over anything that might cause harm on his socked feet and when a stream snaked through his way, he jumped it like he was jumping off steps. This should have felt like unknown territory and yet, something called his name. Quietly guided, as though by a sixth sense, he moved across the same paths the wolves had used over and over.

 

Of course, that sounded stupid if you read that out loud. There was no sense or super power, it was just him following some kind of human instinct; almost like it was move or die. The wind seemed to carry the same information of a stack of maps, telling which animals had traveled where long ago. His ears picked up faint sounds that before had gone unnoticed: the rustling of twig being snapped by a crow, the movement of deers dozens of feet away. 

 

He felt like he was home.

 

Rounding a pine tree, Lance finally came upon the source of the yells: three wolves. It was the orange wolf and the black she-wolf; which made his nerves twist a bit. The two of them had pounced on a third wolf, a scraggly young male with ugly, healing scars. He looked like he didn't belong. They were so fit and you could see his ribs. The two were pinning him to the leafy mud with silent dominance, all freezing at the sight of Lance. Even the one pinned down twisted his head, eyes entreating. Lance's heart thudded so hard it was like a bird stuck in a metal cage. He knew those eyes; He had remembered them from school. 

 

"Matthew?" Lance let his hand stretch out to the empty air. 

 

The pinned wolf grunted pitifully through his flared nostrils. He just kept staring at those eyes. Brown. Flecked with green. Hazelish. Did wolves have green eyes? Maybe they did. Why did they look so wrong? As Lance stared at them, that one word just kept singing in his head: Human, human, _human_.

 

For some reason, the black she-wolf glanced up and immediately released, the orange only followed suite. The orange snapped at the mangled one, pushing him away from Lance. Her eyes were on him the entire time, daring him to stop the act. Something told him that he should've, but by the time he yanked a huge, pointed stick off the ground, the wolves were already deep ghosts in the distance. 

 

Without the wolf's eyes before him, Lance felt utterly stupid. He wondered if he had imagined the likeliness to Matthew's. After all, it had been two weeks since he'd seen Matthew in person, and really paid attention to him. He could be misreading this whole thing. What was he thinking? They turned him into a wolf? Nonsense.

 

He let out a deep breath. Actually, that's exactly what he thought. Lance could feel stomach acid boiling in the back of his throat and in three seconds, his earlier memories with Pidge were all over the fungus side of a log in multicolored variations. He didn't think he'd forgotten Matthew's eyes. Or his voice. And he definitely hadn't imagined the human scream or pitiful howl. He just knew. Sometimes, you can't explain things but you just know, like when you see a shadow in the corner of your eye. That's exactly the feeling. He knew, like the knowing of where he was going by instinct in the woods. 

 

There was a huge knot in his stomach. Nerves? Anticipation? Sickness? Matthew wasn't the only thing secretive about those woods. 

 

That night, Lance laid in bed curled around his handmade blankets, staring up at the glow-in-dark stars on his ceiling. They made him think of the actual stars outside in the night, punching holes in his consciousness, and pricking him with such longing. He could stare at them for hours, their depth pulling him into a part of himself that he ignored during the day. 

 

Outside, in an equal depth, he could hear a keening wail, and then another, as wolves began to howl. Some pitched in, low or mournful or high, an eerie chorus. He knew his wolf's howl; a rich, soft tone that was louder than the others. 

 

His heart ached so deep inside him that his brain couldn't even decide anymore if he wanted them to stop or go on forever. He wondered what it would be like to howl under a sky of endless  stars. He blinked a tear away, feeling ignorantly foolish, but he didn't go to sleep until every sound had calmed. 

 

**Lance McClain**

 

"Should I take the Humanity Checklist home?" Lance asked Pidge. "For studying tonight? Or should I just leave it?" 

 

Pidge shoved her locker shut, eyelids fluttering silently to examine her own checklist for a second. Whatever conclusion she came to, it took her only mere seconds. Today, she had worn a parka, fluffy and uncharacteristic of her. "Yeah, probably. Take it with you." 

 

Lance groaned, retrieving the checklist that he had already stored away in his locker in hopes that he wouldn't need it. Behind them students marched throughout the halls to retrieve their stuff to go home. All day long, he had worked up the nerve to tell Pidge about the wolves. Normally, he wouldn't have had to think about it, but after the almost-fight a day before, the moment seemed a bit awkward to just bring up. He sighed. "The wolves came again." 

 

Pidge stared idly down at the things she was carrying, making sure not to forget anything. The too long silence made his nerves weaken more. "Ah, that sounds cool. I'm glad they're still visiting."

 

"Yep, me too." He debated again on whether or not to tell her. Pidge was into conspiracies, they had watched many YouTube videos together over them, and she seemed to enjoy the wolves too. Even inside his head, the words sounded crazy. But he knew he had to tell someone besides Hunk, who found the wolves very dangerous. The secret that Lance held by himself was squeezing the air out of his throat, he needed some kind of relief. 

"This is going to sound dumb," 

 

"Anything you say is dumb." Pidge smiled, only playing around. 

 

"Hey!" He huffed without any venom. "Anyway, anyway, there was a new wolf-and I think something happened with Matthew." 

 

Her smile disappeared a mere fraction and she blinked at Lance. 

 

"I just thought that I had seen Matthew in the woods as a..." He knotted his eyebrows together a bit, biting his lip. 

 

"A wolf?" Pidge raised her eyebrows, now completely turning to stare up at Lance. With utter confusion displayed on her face, she straightened her round glasses. "That's nuts." He barely heard her over the noise of students. "I mean, maybe not. Who knows, right? Listen, Lance, I trust you and all but those things only happen in movies. It would be insanely nuts." She pressed. 

 

Lance leaned in close, trying his best to understand her over the noise. Which, he was struggling at. "Pidge, I know what I saw. They were Matthew's eyes. It was his voice." Of course, her doubt made him doubt. 

 

She gave him a long look before setting off toward their homeroom. "I want to believe you, but I'm just a little bit worried, nothing against anything." 

 

"Wait, what? Worried?" 

 

"Uh huh. What would that even mean? They were all werewolves?" She asked. 

 

"I don't know. I didn't think about that." Lance frowned. That hadn't occurred to him. It should've but it hadn't. It was impossible. Those long absences were because his wolf turned to human form? The idea was unbearable, only because he wanted it to be true so badly it actually hurt. 

 

"This obsession is a tad bit wild, don't you think?" 

 

"I'm not obsessed." His voice came out a bit more hurt than he expected. 

 

Pidge stopped to glance back at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. It's just you have talked about this since we were kids and daydreamed and thought about." 

 

"I'm just interested, I guess." He sighed. 

 

"I know and that's completely reasonable. I am too. I just think that you need to be careful. This isn't a movie or book or video on the internet." 

 

Lance didn't say anything. All he could think was that she was being unfair, but completely right. He was being too obsessive over this but he couldn't stop. It was justified but clearly, she doubted him. He understood, it just hurt a bit because he knew she wouldn't be as thrilled when she found out he had even wished to be a wolf once. "Yeah. Okay. I get that." 

 

"Just be careful. I don't want what happened to Matthew, whatever that was, to happen to you because you kept this up." Pidge pressed her lips together and pushed around him to leave. 

 

The hallway seemed too quiet after she'd gone, and once again, Lance felt even more foolish. Instead of heading home, he trailed back into the empty homeroom, flopped into a chair, and held his chin in his hand. He couldn't remember the last time Pidge had doubted him about anything. She had listened to his countless, dramatic tales and not once had she in the slightest. 

 

If Lance had hoped his day would end simply there, then that was majorly wrong. His thoughts were cut short by the sound of raged strides in flats, the scent of expensive perfume hitting him a second before he lifted his eyes to find Allura Whitely standing over his desk. 

 

"Lance, I heard that you guys were talking about the wolves yesterday with the cop." Her voice was pleasantly sweet even the way she pronounced his name like 'Lonce' was serene, but the expression in her eyes belied her tone. 

"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming you're misinformed. I heard you telling those people that the wolves aren't a problem. News flash, those things killed my brother." 

 

"I'm sorry about Matthew," Lance said, automatically wanting to jump to his wolf's defense. For a second, he couldn't get Matthew's eyes out of his head, but that sympathy was short lived from the grimace that she gave him back. 

 

"I don't want to hear it." Allura interrupted. "I know you're about to say something completely problematic. Obviously, someone's going to have to do something about those dangerous beasts." 

 

His eyes avoided her face. "Look anything could've happened. It could've been just one wolf. The odds are that the rest had nothing to do with-" 

 

"Nonsense," She snapped at him. Her pink lips tightened harder and she glared so hard that he wondered what exactly she was thinking. "You should just stop your peace between them as soon as possible. They won't be around much longer anyway." 

 

Lance's voice flattened. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

 

She waved a hand at him, fat bracelets jingling like bells. "I'm just sick of people saying different. It doesn't matter. They are killing the wolves today, now, actually." 

 

"What?" He tried not to gasp. 

 

"You heard me. They are killing them. Right now." 

 

She slipped out and glided through the door as simple as she had come in. 

 

For a single moment, Lance sat at the desk, cheeks burning. And then, he jumped from his chair, his checklist fluttering to the floor like listless birds. He left them where they fell and darted as hard as he could to his car. 

 

He was breathless by the time he slid behind the wheel, Allura's words playing over and over in his head. He had never thought of the wolves as vulnerable, but once he started imagining what a small-town attorney and big shot Allura's father was capable of-fueled by grief, helped along with wealth-they suddenly seemed terrifyingly fragile. 

 

Lance yanked the keys from his jean pocket and shoved them into the ignition, feeling the car groaning to life underneath his bottom. Was a hunting party going after the wolves? Hunting them now? 

 

He had to get home. 

 

By the time that he realized he was driving fifty out of the school's parking lot, his head hit the top of the wheel thankfully soft due to his foot having to meet the break to keep from hitting another student driving. 

 

"Fuck," He hissed, glancing around to see if anyone had caught the humiliation. His forehead throbbed, but it wasn't time to worry about that. Usually, he could've finessed the clutch and got the hell out of there without much frustration, but apparently, today was out to get him. 

 

There were two ways to get home from school. One was shorter but involved stoplights and stop signs-impossible today, when he was too distracted to baby his car. The other was slightly longer but only had one stop and ran the border of the woods, where the wolves lived. That one.

 

As Lance drove, pushing his car harder than it could take, his stomach twisted sick with nervousness. He checked the dials; the engine was overheating but he didn't have time to curse his father's gift. 

 

As the sky began to burn brilliantly red on the horizon, turning the thin clouds to streaks of blood above the trees, his heart thrummed wildly in his ears, skin tingling. Everything inside him screamed that this was wrong. 

 

Up ahead, He spotted a line of pickup trucks parked by the side of the road. Their four-ways blinked in the failing light, sporadically illuminating the woods next to the road. A few figures holding something that he couldn't quite make out from the distance. His stomach turned over again, his car gasped, and stalled. It left him with no noise but the sound of something too familiar. 

 

Growling harshly under his breath, he braked in frustration, letting the car drift to a stop behind the other trucks. He could call Sophia but he doubted she would answer at this time. Besides, worse comes to worse, he could walk to get home. It wasn't too far-maybe ten minutes down the road. 

 

As Lance climbed out onto the road, slamming his car door shut, he could only feel his stomach itch more. Allura was telling the truth. Why else was there so many trucks here? Thankfully, he recognized the guy leaning on one of the trucks. It was Officer Dawes, drumming his fingers on the hood of his car, looking as uncomfortable as ever. When Lance got closer, his breath hitched, the officer didn't come alone. He had a shotgun in the crook of his arm. 

 

"You alright? Car troubles?" He asked. 

 

Lance turned abruptly at the sound of a few more hunters loudly making their way down the side of the road. He could make out possibly a dozen of hunters were knotted on the shoulder a bit away, all carrying rifles, voices muffled. Squinting into the vast forest, Lance could make out others, infesting the home like the plague. 

 

The hunt had already begun. 

 

His brain wailed with panic, something was terrible wrong. Something was wrong. Oh, god. His eyes glared down at Dawes gun, vision blurry. 

"Is that for the wolves? Are you going to kill them?" 

 

Dawes looked down at the gun, stiffening a bit too awkwardly. "Uh-" 

 

There was a terrible sound that cracked from the woods, making them all jump. Cheers rung out from somewhere. 

 

"Wait! What was that?" Lance turned again, voice wavering a bit. He knew what it was. It was a gunshot. In his wolf's home. "They're hunting, aren't they?" He demanded. 

 

"With all due respect," Dawes began. 

 

There were shouts in the woods, distant, and another popped sound. God. The wolves. His wolf. He grabbed Dawes's wrist roughly. "You have to tell them to stop! They can't shoot back there!" 

 

Dawes stepped back, almost tripping. "Mister-" 

 

In Lance's head, he imagined the perfect image of his black wolf rolling on its side, a gaping hole between its eyes, blood soaking the grass. He didn't think. The words just poured out. "You have to tell them to stop. I have a friend in there! She went in there. In the woods. Please, tell them!"

 

"What?" The Officer froze, immediately contemplating what he had just said. "There's someone in there?" 

 

"Yes! Didn't you hear me?" Lance hissed. 

 

God bless whatever being stayed in the sky, watching over them, because awkward Dawes didn't probe him for anymore questions. Pulling his iPhone from his pocket, he pressed a number and held the thing to his left ear. His eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed hard together. He pulled the phone away and even from where Lance stood, he could see that the phone didn't go through with the call. It was probably the reception. Never worked out here. 

Lance just stood, hands wiping back and forth on his arms to keep the warmth in them. Surely they had to stop soon, after all, it was about to be dark outside. The sun barely peeped over the horizon. 

 

Dawes shook his head. "It's not working, but I'm sure that everything will be fine. They are trained men. They wouldn't hit anyone besides what needs to be-"

 

Lance growled, hearing enough. He just couldn't wait anymore. He scrambled down to the edge of the woods, jumping the ditch even as his ankles threatened to give out. He left Dawes behind, hearing him call out, but he didn't care. He had to do something or warn something or find his wolf. 

 

But as he ran, slipping carelessly past brushes, getting scratched by thorns, all he end think was that he had been too late.  

 

**Keith Kogane**

 

They ran, silently as possible. They rushed past everything in sight and around the trees as the men drove them before it. 

 

The woods he knew, was being invaded by bearded odors and their masculine shouts. Keith did the best as he could manage, scrambling over anything in sight. If it wasn't for running on the tips of his toes in leaping manners, he would've already worn out the padding of his paw. 

 

It was terrifying to not know where you were. 

 

He traded images with the other wolves in his wordless language: figures behind them, motionless, cold wolves; the smell of rotting death tickled his nostrils. 

 

A crack deafened Keith, a fire that had been so close to him that it buzzed his balance. Besides him, a whimper rung out, and a body dropped. He knew exactly which wolf it was, but there was no time to mourn; nothing to do even if he had. 

 

A new smell washed in his face: stagnant water. The lake. They were driving them to the lake. It was a smart move for the humans. Once they landed there, they would have no escape on shore. 

 

They were the hunted. They slid before them, and they fell, whether or not they fought. 

 

The others kept running toward the lake in hopes to survive. 

 

But Keith stopped. 

 

 **Lance McClain**  

 

These were not Lance's woods. These were completely different than the woods he walked through days ago. All trees were packed and twisted in dark angles, something out of a haunted nightmare. He couldn't see anything well. The six sense he recently had was all gone, leaving him completely disoriented. He had to keep stopping and starting again to find where the shouts were coming from. 

 

His breath was burning his throat by the time he saw the first few hunters. He shouted but the men didn't even turn; the figure too far away. And then he saw the others-all moving slowly, making a lot of noise. Driving the wolves ahead of them. 

 

"Stop!" Lance shouted, panting. He was now close enough to see the guns in their hands. The distance between them began to close, even though his own legs protested. 

 

The hunter stopped walking and turned, very much surprised. Lance had to get very close to see his face; it was so close to night  in these trees. His face, older and lined, seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn't remember where exactly he had seen him in town. The hunter frowned at him, almost guilty, but maybe he was reading too much into this. 

"What are you doing here?"

 

Seconds ticked by as Lance struggled to find his voice, gripping a tree to not collapse completely exhausted. "You-have-to stop. I have a friend in these woods. We hung out here a lot. She was going back to get a notebook she left." 

 

He squinted at him, looking like he was about to ignore it. "Right now?" 

 

"Yes! Right now!" Lance snapped so hard that it frightened himself. "You got to call them off! It's almost dark. How can anyone see to not shoot her?" 

 

The hunter stared at him for so long that Lance was about to leave to find more help, but after about a full minute, he clicked the button down on his walkie talkie to speak. 

Not too far away, he could hear sounds. Real gunshots. Not those little crackle sounds before. His ears rung. 

 

In a weird way, Lance felt totally objective, like he was standing outside his own body and this was all some kind of weird nightmare. He could hear his own heartbeat racing like fire. This was a viciously clear nightmare of death. 

 

"There's someone in the woods," the hunter said into his walkie talkie, as if he couldn't see that part of Lance was dying. 

 

"Excuse me!" A hand grabbed Lance's shoulder tightly, much to his curiosity, Dawes had followed. "What were you thinking? There are people with guns here." 

Lance jerked roughly out from under his hand. 

 

"What's your name?" 

 

"Lance McClain."

 

Recognition dawned on the hunter's face. "Son of Thomas? You have a house right over there, right? On the edge of the woods?" The hunter pointed in the direction of home. 

 

Dawes seized up on this bit of information. "I'll escort you back there and then come back to find out what's going on with your friend-" 

 

"I don't need an escort." Lance said, but Dawes followed him toward the house anyway. The cold air was beginning to prickle on his cheeks, the evening getting increasingly colder without the sun's protection. 

 

He was positive that his wolf had been around here. 

 

At the edge of the woods, Lance stopped, looking at the dark glass of the back door on the deck. His family still hadn't returned yet, which meant he could slip in and hope this mess would solve itself. 

 

"I got it from here." Lance mumbled, allowing Dawes to spend thirty seconds hesitating before heading back the way he came. After all this, he didn't really care about having an attitude anymore. He stood in the silent twilight, listening to the faraway voices in the woods, which seemed to rattle his brain. 

 

And Lance stood their in what he thought was silence, he started to hear sounds that he hadn't before. The distant roar of trucks on the highway. The sound of animal rustling away. 

 

The sound of fast, moaning breathes. 

 

Lance froze. He held his breath. 

 

The uneven gasps weren't his. 

 

He followed the sound, climbing cautiously onto the deck, painfully aware of the wood sighing beneath his feet. 

 

He smelled him before he saw him, his heart racing, instantly reviving up into high gear. _His wolf_. The porch light shined carefully on him and there he was, half sitting, half lying against the glass back door. 

 

Lance's breath caught painfully in his throat and he moved closer, hesitant. His beautiful ruff was gone and instead replaced with uneven cut bangs that swept to the left, curling gently far underneath his narrow jawline. He was very thin, leaned with only a broad chest. Not much was received from the way he laid-knees stretched to his chest in an attempt to cover his completely nude body, but Lance knew it was his wolf even before he opened his eyes. Violet eyes, so familiar, flicked open at the sound of his arrival, but he didn't move. Cerise liquid leaked from his ear to his desperately human shoulders like war paint. 

 

Lance couldn't tell you how he knew it was him, but he never doubted it. 

 

Werewolves didn't exist. 

 

Despite telling Pidge, He hadn't believed it. Not like this. 

 

The breeze carried the metallic smell again, grounding him. Blood. He was wasting time. 

 

Lance yanked the glass door open in such of rush that he'd forgotten it was being used as a pillow. Too late, he saw one of his hands reach out for help before he crashed inside the open door, leaving a bloody handprint on the glass. 

 

"I'm sorry!" Lance panicked, stepping over him as quick as he could. He hurried in the kitchen, hitting the lights as he did along the way. He pulled a drawer open, accidentally ripping it from the socket, and spilling the rags all over the tile floor. Hastily cursing, he snatched one from the floor and grabbing his father's keys from the table, just in case he had to use them. His Mother had driven him to work with her car that day, fortunately. 

 

Lance dashed back to the door. He was afraid the boy might've disappeared while his back was turned, a fragment of imagination, but he hadn't. He laid half in and half out, shaking violently. 

 

Without thinking in a moment of adrenaline rush, He dipped down, picking the naked-that momentarily forgotten-Black haired boy up in bridal style with an exhausted huff of breath. In the light of the kitchen, he could see the trails of blood everywhere. Blood on his shirt now. Blood dropping to the tiles. Enough blood to be tremendously real. 

 

Lance apologized at the cradled boy in his arms again, kicking the glass door shut with his foot, and laid him down beside the spilled dish rags. 

 

He crouched swiftly, voice barely a whisper. "What happened?" Lance knew the answer, but he wanted to hear him speak. 

 

The boy's lips parted, hand pressed against his neck, allowing brilliant red to spill between his thin fingers. "Shot." 

 

Lance's stomach squeezed with nerves, not from what he said, but the voice that said it. It was him. Human words, not a howl, but with the same timbre. _It was him._ "Let me look." 

 

He hand to pry the boy's hand away from his neck. There was so much blood that Lance couldn't see the wound, so he just pressed the dishcloth over the mangled mess that stretched from his chin to bare collarbone. It was well beyond the Cuban's first aid abilities. "Hold this." His eyes flicked to the tan boy's, familiar but subtly different. The wildness was tempered with a comprehension that was absent before. 

 

"I don't want to go back." The agony in his words shocked Lance. The boy's body jerked in a weird, unnatural movement that hurt to think about. "Don't. Don't let. Me change." 

 

Lance grabbed his jacket off the hook near the glass door and helped the boy put it on. It wasn't substantially better but it was enough to stop the goosebumps. In any other context, He would've been embarrassed by the boy's nakedness, but here, his body smeared with blood and dirt, it just made him look more pitiful. "What's your name?" He said, extremely gentle. 

 

He groaned softly, rolling on his side before his body finally started to give out. He laid his cheek against the white tiles, breath clouding. "Keith." 

 

He closed his eyes. 

 

"Keith," Lance repeated. "I'm Lance. I'm going to go start Dad's car. I'm taking you to the hospital." 

 

He shuddered. "Lance-I."

 

When he didn't finish, Lance jumped back to his feet with the keys. He still couldn't believe that he wasn't his own invention-years of wishing made real. But whatever he was, he was here now, and Lance wasn't about to lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if you seen any grammar errors, ignore them. I'll go back and fix them when I'm not cooking

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy. The next chapter will be posted in 1-3 days.  
> If you enjoyed the first chapter, but can't read it on here, then here's where I also posted the story: 
> 
> My quotev- pastelboiii  
> My wattpad- trickster-kisses


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